


Affection Falling Just Short of Love

by grandilloquism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Thieves, M/M, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandilloquism/pseuds/grandilloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Remus goes into empty houses and steals books, Sirius is the only person that’s ever caught him at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affection Falling Just Short of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 R/S Games on LJ for the prompt: “And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
> 
> Title from Welcome to Night Vale podcast #28, Summer Reading Program.

The first time they met it was because Remus was trying to rob him. Sirius had, quite by design, missed the last train out of London in favor of another quiet night in Grimmauld Place. Regulus’ break had started the week before his, and so his brother and parents had left to settle into his great-uncle’s estate for the holidays, leaving Sirius to finish out the term and spend a few days ‘getting himself together’ before taking a train north. His mother hadn’t sounded precisely pleased over the phone, but he had agreed to take the first morning train and there hadn’t been much either of them could do about it.

It was just him in the big London townhouse, already locked down for the winter, with only a few lamps lit to navigate the pale shapes of the sheeted furniture. It was coming on five in the morning, but he had spent the last six years in boarding school and it was hard for Sirius to sleep without the sounds of other people around him. He was stumbling through some novel James had loaned him when he heard a bang and clatter from downstairs.

Likely, he thought, it was just a maid who had come back for some forgotten personal item before leaving for her own holiday. Sirius got all the way down the stairs thinking exactly that before he saw that what had made such a racket going down was the ugly old umbrella stand by the door and that any maid, on-duty or off-, would have used a back entrance.

His mobile was still up in his room at the top of the house and the nearest phone was in the kitchen. We make due with the weapons at hand, Sirius thought to himself, and grabbed down an antique broadsword from its bracket on the wall. It’s hilt was silver gilt and there was an emerald the size of an egg in the pommel, but the edge, if not sharp, wasn’t exactly dull, either, and Sirius felt very menacing with its heavy weight in his hand.

He heard a creak from the direction of the parlour and soft-footed it down the hall. “I’m armed!” he called out as he passed through the open doorway.

There was a rustle of cloth and a metal on metal scraping noise, then a soft voice spoke, “Well I'll obviously have to turn myself in at once, if the alternative is getting run through by that your most fearsome blade.” There was more than a hint of derision.

Sirius twirled the hilt in his hand, causing the blade to make a whoosh-ing noise as it cut through the air— a trick he had taught himself with a fencing foil and a weekend’s marathoning fantasy dramas.

“Very impressive,” the droll voice commented. Sirius thought he could make out a human shape back-lit against the parlour curtains. He took a slow step forward and the shape held its ground.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

“My name is Remus,” said the voice, easily enough. “I had come here to rob you, but at the time I’d been informed that the house would be empty.” He could make out a shrug in the dim light, “Best laid plans. For clarity’s sake,” he continued, “would you mind sharing your name?”

“Sirius Black,” he said, more than a little put off. Sirius had never personally been robbed before, but he was sure that it wasn’t supposed to go this way.

“The young lordling himself,” said his thief, then, as sternly as his mother, “you were supposed to have left last night.”

“The less time with my family the better, for all of us,” he said, wondering why he was opening up even this much to the person that was trying to rob his home.

“Oh, yes,” Remus commented, an edge to his voice, “people who love you and want to spend their holiday’s with you— you’re right, it does sound very tedious. How dare they care about you.”

“I don’t have to defend myself to a thief,” Sirius spat, moving forward suddenly with the sword raised.

“If you get blood on that sword I will be very cross. It should be in a museum.”

Sirius had come close enough to make out some of the planes and angles of his face and was surprised to see that Remus looked no older than he. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gone suddenly soft.

Remus looked up through his lashes, “Would you believe it was a dare?”

Sirius might be the type that would try to steal something on a dare, but he thought he could tell already that Remus wouldn’t be. “No,” he said, shortly.

“Ah, well. Suffice to say that I was convinced it would be worth my while.”

The sun was beginning to come up, anemic winter light strengthening by the minute. “Do people even rob places at the crack of dawn?” Sirius wondered aloud.

“I do,” Remus said. “It happens to be when I’m awake. Will you let me leave now or are you going to insist on dong something regrettable with that sword?”

Sirius looked down the length of the sword, then dropped it onto the nearest cushion of a sheeted chaise lounge.

Remus winced. “Museum,” he repeated. “That sword belongs in a museum, don’t just go banging it about places.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sirius said, a bit testily, but with a strong undercurrent of amusement. “Why are you here?” he asked again. “What were you going to take?”

Remus slanted him an unreadable look, then crossed the bulk of the room to the glass fronted cabinets at the far end. They were kept locked at all times, a fact Sirius had been relentlessly aware of as a child, but Remus opened them without any pause for key fumbling. He picked out a thin leather bound book and held it up to the weak light.

“That’s it?” Sirius asked, a bit disappointed.

“It’s an early 14th century alchemy text— it’s quite rare, I assure you,” Remus said, as if Sirius had questioned his good taste. “More to the point,” he drummed his fingers against the spine of the books, “it certainly doesn’t belong here.”

“I’ve known you twenty minutes and you are already the oddest person I’ve ever met,” Sirius remarked, pettish.

“Would you feel better if I said the reverse was also true?” Remus asked. “I’ve never been threatened with a sword before.”

Sirius took the book from Remus and riffled through the pages. He couldn’t make out much by the dim light, but none of it looked very interesting. “Happy Christmas,” he said, offering it back.

Remus took it, though there was an odd sort of reluctance to his movements. “You’re giving it to me?” he asked, a frown shadowing his face.

“It’s Christmas.”

“It’s the nineteenth,” Remus corrected.

“Christmas adjacent,” Sirius shrugged blithely. “You wanted the book, I had the book, I gave you the book. Happy Christmas.”

Remus tucked the book under one arm and surveyed Sirius with a sort of awkwardness that hadn’t been there just a moment before. “I’m going to leave now,” he said, “before you come to your senses.” He brushed his fingers back and forth of the books spine. “Thank you for this. It’s been quite the experience, Sirius Black.”

Sirius stifled a yawn. “If I weren’t so tired I’d think this was a dream.”

“It might be better that way,” Remus smiled. And then he left, out the rear door and through the garden. Sirius heard the garden gate creak, loud in the still silence of the dawn, as he let himself out, and then he was alone.

Sirius arranged the books in the cabinet to make it less obvious one was missing and closed the door. He locked the house back up, hung the sword back on it’s hooks, and climbed back into his bed. Morning light was coming in through the windows. The house was very still, and his feet were very cold. He slept.

#

By Easter break he had come to accept an uncomfortable truth. Remus had existed in the fringes of Sirius’ life for years and he had simply failed to notice him. To be fair, it appeared that Remus took great pains to be unnoticeable. In fact, the only remarkable thing about him, Sirius learned by close observation, was that he was there.

He was at the Gamp family’s new year ball. He was at the latest Malfoy offspring’s christening. He was at James’ cousin’s wedding. He was at Peter’s Great-aunt’s funeral. Every society event his mother pulled him out of school for, every party he was talked into dressing up for on his occasional weekends home, Remus was there.

“It’s interesting,” Regulus told him, as they lurked under the shade of an improbably phallic topiary.

“What is?” Sirius asked, hugging his arms around himself and wishing he hadn’t abandoned his coat inside. It was the last weekend of his break and his grandfather had gathered at least fifty of their closest relatives and maybe a hundred-odd family friends to his house for an impromptu little party. It was inevitable that he spotted Remus within twenty minutes of arrival.

“Your sudden obsession with Lupin.”

“Lupin?” Sirius could just see him inside, through the windows of the conservatory.

“Remus Lupin— the guy you’ve been creeping on for the last three months.” Regulus gave his a sly look, “Don’t tell me you hadn’t even bothered to learn his name?”

“Of course I knew his name,” Sirius snapped. Then, “And I haven’t been creeping on him.”

“And as your younger brother I’m obliged to believe every word that comes out of your mouth,” Regulus agreed.

“Fuck off.”

“I would, gladly, but, and as much as I hate to inflate your sense of self worth, you happen to be much more entertaining than that crowd.” He nodded towards the broad windows.

“I could be bound and gagged and still be more interesting than that crowd.”

Regulus winced, “I could have gone my entire life without that mental image. Thank you, brother.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Sirius replied, in the same mild tone.

A quiet moment passed during which they both watched Remus watch the party.

“What puzzles me,” Regulus interrupted, “is how you two are even acquainted.”

“I’ve known him for ages,” Sirius lied.

“No,” Regulus pointed out, “I’ve known him for ages. You startled so hard you knocked over a flower arrangement when you caught sight of him at New Year’s. Not exactly what one would expect upon meeting a casual acquaintance.”

Despite knowing that they were alone Sirius checked the area for eavesdroppers; Regulus looked gleeful. “He broke into Grimmauld Place.”

Whatever Regulus had expected, it hadn’t been this. “What?”

Sirius took a certain pleasure in speaking as matter of factly as he could. “A few days before Christmas. The morning after I was supposed to leave for Uncle’s? He wanted a book.”

“He what?”

“So I gave it to him.”

“What!”

Regulus was looking up at him wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open a little. Sirius felt very smug. “It was Christmas. It seemed like the least I could do.”

“I don’t even pretend to understand you,” Regulus said, pushing his hands through his thick dark hair. “How does something like that even happen?”

Sirius shrugged.

Regulus laughed in a desperate, what has my life come to sort of way. “You’re infuriating. There are five-year-olds less childish than you.”

“You don’t know any five-year-olds,” Sirius reminded him.

“I know you,” said Regulus darkly. “You can’t tell me there’s much of a difference.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out at him.

Regulus, as if it were he that was the older brother, sighed, much put-upon. “You should go talk to him,” he advised.

“Not for all the tea in China.” He had been making a similar argument with himself off and on for the last three months.

“Stubborn, childish, feckless, intractable,” Regulus began to list.

“At least two of those words mean the same thing,” Sirius interrupted. “I won’t stick around to listen to you be boring and redundant— I could go inside for that, and then I’d be warm.”

“I won’t stop you,” Regulus made an expansive gesture with his hands. “Be my guest.” Sirius shuffled a little in place and Regulus smiled cruelly, “Unless there's someone inside that you’d rather avoid?”

“Fuck off.”

“Now you’re just being boring and redundant,” Regulus deadpanned.

Sirius sauntered away, each step deliberately unaffected, his head held high and his stomach a mess of nerves.

#

Remus found him, as he was eventually going to, in the library. His grandfather’s library was a tall, almost perfectly round room split among three floors. The first two floors were what most visitors saw, as the third was hidden in the wide cupola that surmounted the roof in the east wing. To even access the cupola you had to find the handle on a shelf that otherwise looked like every single other shelf in the library, save that it opened on the smallest, most rickety, ladder-like staircase that Sirius had ever had the misfortune to use. When they were small Sirius used to dare his brother, who had been scared of heights, to go up and down those stairs until their grandfather had eventually caught them at it.

The room itself wasn’t much more than thirty feet across, lined in chest-high bookshelves, with the rest of the wall space being given over to windows. It was a good place to hide out, removed from the press of people on the lower floors, and Sirius had felt secure in his solitude until he heard the scrape of the door sliding back.

There was no place to go, unless he was willing to jump out a window and, side-eyeing the fifty foot drop, he wasn’t. Listening as the steps made their way up the stairs, Sirius put as much distance between himself and the door as was possible.

Sirius managed to be idly, almost casually, flipping through a book as Remus came through the narrow doorway.

His steps seemed to stutter as Sirius looked up from his book, his entire body taking a sharp pause before continuing into the room. He had, Sirius realized, simply been exploring the house, not expecting to find anyone at all.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” Sirius said baldly, not being inclined to stretch uncomfortable moments out longer than they had to be.

He looked him over, head canted to one side, and Sirius felt very suddenly self-conscious. “I can leave,” Remus offered. “If you like.”

“No,” Sirius said, “I wouldn’t like.”

Remus huffed a laugh, stepping more fully into the room. “What are you reading?”

“Er,” Sirius checked the cover of the book he had grabbed down randomly from the shelves. “I’m an avid ornithologist,” Sirius defended himself, holding up a copy of A Spotter’s Guide to Great Britain’s Birds.

Remus’ smile tucked into his cheeks. “Is that right?” he asked, crossing the room. Gently, he tugged the book from Sirius’ hands and placed it precisely back onto the shelf.

“No,” Sirius admitted. “It’s not.” It was the closest they’d been since Christmas and the lighting was considerably better than it had been on that occasion. Sirius tried to focus on Remus’ eyes before his gaze skirted away— to his chapped lips, to the mole on the hinge of his jaw, the freckles across the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat and looked away, out the window.

“I ran into your brother a few minutes ago.”

“He was lying,” Sirius said in a rush.

“Beg pardon?” Remus asked, and Sirius felt just this sudden surge of fondness that he had to beat back with a club before he could speak again.

“Compulsive liar, my brother. Anything he said, or even happened to mention— absolute falsehoods. Couldn’t tell the truth to save his own life, could Regulus.”

“Interesting.”

“Oh, no. It’s quite tragic, really.”

Remus’ lips quirked; Sirius pretended not to stare. “So if he had, and this is just an example, of course, given me a mobile number and told me that I should call it, he was definitely lying?”

“I, er—” Sirius faltered. “No?” he tried.

Remus laughed quietly and turned to go.

“Wait,” Sirius stopped him, for no real reason other than he wasn’t ready for him to leave. On impulse he took A Spotter’s Guide to Great Britain’s Birds back down from the shelf, offering it to Remus. “For your collection,” he said, with a bit of his usual charm back.

Remus took the book, smiling. “Thank you,” he said, very gravely, and left. Sirius stayed in the cupola, staring out at the view and imagining the occasional phantom vibration from his phone, until the sun had nearly set.

#

Spring seemed reluctant to give up it’s hold, but as June began it was finally, inevitably, pushed back, and with a swift suddenness Summer rushed in to take it’s place. They had spoken on the phone seventeen times since Easter, but Sirius had not seen him since the afternoon he had been left standing in his grandfather’s library.

It was the second week of his summer vacation, and his family had left to Paris for the weekend, gone to spend time with his maternal grandmother. Sirius, in dogged hopefulness, had begged off the trip, claiming food poisoning. It had meant spending most of an afternoon reclining in the bathtub of his en suite and making loud retching noises when his mother came to check on him, but it had garnered him the house to himself for an entire three days.

Remus did not come sneaking in during the early hours. He knocked, quite smartly, and rang the bell, at fifteen minutes after seven, early Saturday morning.

Sirius, half-drowsing and beginning to wrap his covers more firmly around him, was drifting back off to sleep until he got the faintest niggling of an idea of who it might be, and he was up and tripping down the stairs in a flash, blankets trailing behind him.

“Is this a bad time?” Remus asked, after Sirius had got the door unlocked and flung it open.

“No,” Sirius said, out of breath and a little wild-eyed. He hitched his pajama pants further up his hips and pulled a hand through his hair. “Do you want to—” he knuckled the last of the sleep from his eyes. “You should come in. If you want.”

“I do want,” Remus said, looking expectant.

Belatedly, Sirius realized he was blocking the doorway and he scrambled to the side, holding the door open for Remus.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, glancing about the pristine cream and emerald foyer until his eyes rested on the family portrait. Sirius, as he often did when reminded of the painting’s existence, wished painful death on the artist whose hands had painted it.

“You look like your father,” Remus commented, looking between him and the painting. That was true— they shared the same ski-slope nose and sharp angled chin. Regulus had more of their mother’s look, though you couldn’t tell from the painting, young as he had been, and all of them had the same straight dark hair and pale eyes.

“The pay-off for a few hundred years of highly selective breeding,” Sirius said dryly.

Remus’ smile was crooked, “It looks good on you.”

Sirius’ cheeks warmed, and he looked away. Just when he needed it, his charm seemed to desert him, leaving him flushed and tongue-tied. If James had been there Sirius never would have heard the end of it. Though perhaps that wasn’t quite true, after all— James was a sucker for love stories. When Sirius looked back Remus was still watching him, smiling.

He fumbled for words, and blurted, “This is strange, right?”

“Very strange,” Remus agreed, glancing down the main corridor and into the open door of the parlour, where they first met.

Sirius caught a glimpse of the shining edge of the sword he had menaced Remus with, hanging slightly crooked from its haphazard replacement. “Good,” he said, glad it wasn’t only him. “You want some tea?”

“Dearly,” Remus agreed, and Sirius’ insides went warm with happiness.

He led them into the kitchen and they made tea and toasted bread. Their first kiss tasted of raspberry jam.


End file.
